I want your eyes

I have seen you hide your eyes,

From my staring pair,

Like clear pearls behind glass walls,

As if your spectacles were fences,

Locking me in past tenses,

Making me doubt my sixth senses;

I have seen them peep at mine,

Like twin kittens at play,

Acting naughty in the hay,

Skipping about with prances;

Making me fall into trances;

Yet now, Maria –
I want to be the light
That never dies,

I want to be your eyes.

I want to be the white,

The pure and true,

That does not hue;

I want to be the black;

The deep and rich,

That does not bleach;

I want to play in the shadows,

At the corners of your eyes,

I want to enter through their windows,

And dance in their shade,

To sit under their lashes,

Sipping on a salty tear;

I want to break beneath their crust,

Sip them through a frosty straw,

And try to earn their trust;

I want to know why, Maria

They so often cry,

Like drops of molten rye,

Which refuse to stay dry;

I want to hide under your eyes,

In the cave beneath the fluid,

Where the sockets form a void,

And the lids a film of Polaroid;

I want to sink in them,

Like cool pools of golden drool,

To waddle in their shallow puddles,

Like a poodle without paddles;

I want to be a picture,

Painted under their watchful glare,

I want to blush, and flush,

To feel the swoosh,

Of your paint brush,

Wash over me with a plush,

Like a lush of white-wash;

I want to flounder,

In their mires;

And re-connect their wires,

To retread their tires,

And walk upon their piers;

I want to be consumed,

By their fires;

Be sure, I am no liar,

All I have, is but a little flair,

Yet all I want,

Is to play them like a lyre;

I want your eyes,

Maria, I want you …